Detour
by lethedrop
Summary: Some days Ryou requires a private jet to get to school on time.


Disclaimer: I don't own _Yu-Gi-Oh!_ and make no profit from this fan-work.

**Detour**

Ryou Bakura stretched, basking in the warmth of a dreamless slumber, his body the stiff, endorphin-laden sore that suggested his deep sleep had been prepaid by vigorous exercise.

Breathing out a contented sigh, he nestled deeper into the covers…that were coarser than his own…and therefore not his own….

Ryou jerked upright, sweeping his eyes across a dingy room. There wasn't much to see—nightstand, door, window—and the only thing he recognized was his suitcase at the foot of the bed.

He eased out of the covers, wincing a little at the hardwood floor's chill. Three steps took him to the window. Rubbing futilely at its grime, he peered down at a busy street lined with shops. At first glance it could have been a town in any first world country, but after a moment he began to spot Slavic curves and flourishes on the buildings and Cyrillic on the signs.

The shadows were long but did that mean it was early morning or early evening? Of which time zone?

Ryou turned to rummage through his suitcase. His mobile phone was on top and a quick check to its date and time function confirmed that not only had he missed the weekend, but unless he got on a plane soon he'd be late for Monday's classes. Fortunately the suitcase also held a note with a time, place, and "already paid" written in Cyrillic so messy it could only be his Other's. There was even a set of clean clothing, and Ryou changed quickly.

The first time he'd unexpectedly awakened in a foreign country, he'd had no passport and his suitcase had been full, not of useful things like clothes, but of priceless artifacts that no legitimate transportation company would overlook. It took six long days tracking down and negotiating with South Americans of questionable business ethics to find a way home.

His Other had later expressed his displeasure with Ryou's decision to exchange a portion of the artifacts for the plane ride, but to the teenager, a certain mask's ominous feel had been a reminder that ancient gold, whether Egyptian or Aztec, could be more trouble than any amount of precious metal was worth.

Pulling himself from memory, Ryou scanned the room for anything not already in his suitcase. There was a Russian-Japanese/Japanese-Russian dictionary on top of the nightstand, which he picked up hesitantly. He hoped it belonged to him, and if it did, that he'd paid for it.

The black leather coat crumpled half under the bed was becoming as familiar as his school uniform, so he checked it for bloodstains and shrugged it on. Nothing else appeared to be his, so he hoisted his suitcase.

After a couple wrong turns he found the hotel office. The cashier was a scraggly-haired old woman who spoke no Japanese and whose English was even worse than Ryou's Russian, but between the two of them his account was eventually settled. Even considering the modern value of rubles, it was slightly unnerving how many were left over in the wallet he'd found in the coat—a wallet belonging to "Xu Yaoguang", a doppelganger of his.

The hotel door apparently opened onto the street he'd seen from his window, and the smell of food guided him to a tiny café near the corner. His stomach, being much less groggy than the rest of him, had no objection to starting the day with dinner.

The waiter spoke some English, and with a lot of gesturing Ryou was able to order a meal of mostly recognizable foods. With a little more gesturing, the waiter conveyed that the location on the Other's note was in a larger city and even helped call a taxi.

Ryou took the time during the ride to check more carefully through his suitcase. He couldn't find his house key, but an unfamiliar, expensive-looking hairbrush turned up that he could put to good use. There was no point in thinking too hard about what could be in the sack at the bottom of his things.

His teeth felt furry. When he got home he would put a toiletry kit in his suitcase.

The scenery was nice, although he couldn't see much in the fading twilight. Russian farmland seemed very peaceful.

A farmer probably wouldn't waste much money on a hairbrush….

The city was beautiful at night, all neon lights and grand buildings.

His transportation skirted the city proper, pulling to a stop before an unlit warehouse. The driver was impatient so Ryou hastily paid and stepped out, his grateful "bolshoye spasibo" swallowed by the screech of tires.

For some reason, a shiver ran down his spine at the sight of the taxi disappearing into the city.

"Dobriy vecher!" came from inside the warehouse.

Ryou turned in what he hoped was a controlled, confident fashion. "Dobriy vecher!"

"Good evening, Bakura-san. Please, this way." Finally someone who spoke Japanese. Ryou followed the middle-aged man into the building, fighting to not stop and gawk at the black jet hidden inside.

"I'm the pilot. My copilot has the duty of taking care of all inside, including our honorable passenger, so please don't hesitate to ask him for anything you need."

"I'm in your hands. Er, about what time should we land?" He probably couldn't get away with asking _where_ as well; his Other would definitely have known already.

"Between 6 and 7 AM, JST, depending on how direct a path we can take. None of us wants to be noticed, after all!" His laughter was loud and harsh.

Upon boarding, Ryou walked straight to a seat and secured his suitcase, doing his best not to look at the crates in the back of the plane. It must have been the middle of the night at home, and though he'd only been awake for a few hours, jet lag pulled him into sleep as soon as he had buckled his seatbelt.

"Bakura-san…Bakura-san…" A hand hesitantly nudged him awake, prodding his shoulder through a blanket that he didn't remember acquiring. He was shaking with cold despite wearing both the blanket and his Other's coat, yet he felt certain he'd been dreaming of fire….

The young man at his side shifted nervously and explained in deferent—albeit coarse-sounding—Japanese that they were about to land. Ryou, realizing that the morning sun now lit the plane, hoped that they had made good time.

When he thanked the copilot for waking him, his own discomfort with the situation pushed his speech into unnecessarily polite forms.

His companion broke into a grin. "Oh ho, this time it's Bakura-san's Nice Face!"

"…Kitazawa-san?" Ryou blinked grit from his eyes and looked closer at the copilot's face. It was indeed familiar, though that scar on his chin was new. Shintarou Kitazawa, whom Ryou strongly suspected was yakuza, beamed at him and bowed slightly, much more at ease now that he knew it wasn't "Bakura-san's Normal Face" that he was dealing with.

There wasn't much time to reminisce about the previous times they'd found themselves in each other's company before Kitazawa had to return to the cockpit, and once they landed his assistance was needed with the cargo. Even so, he made Ryou promise him another friendly poker game (Ryou had no memory of ever playing poker with the man, only blackjack). Kitazawa also agreed to trade a few of his thousand yen notes for the equivalent in rubles.

Eyeing the risen sun with dismay, Ryou decided that the first thing he would spend the money on would be the express train to Domino.

An hour later found him dashing through the hall to his apartment. A businessman neighbor on his way out frowned at him, but Ryou was too panicked to offer more than a hasty apology for his deportment.

His house key hadn't appeared no matter how many times he searched his things, but either his hand had absorbed some tricks or his Other wasn't as asleep as he seemed, because the set of lock picks in his coat pocket opened the door in seconds.

It took thirty seconds to gather his school things, another thirty to change into a not-too-dirty uniform, and five seconds to determine that he shouldn't have postponed grocery shopping. The leftovers that would have lasted him through Friday evening were smelling funny three days later, which left a somewhat stale chunk of bread for breakfast.

He finished his bread on the run and then ducked into a convenience store for a tuna bento. He knew better than to try to go without protein until lunchtime; there was no point in attending if he were merely to pass out from low blood sugar in the middle of literature!

The sprint to school left him breathless and cramping, but he managed to slide into the classroom before the homeroom teacher.

Jounouchi-kun leaned over with an amused grin on his face, and Ryou could only answer his friendly "Sleep in again, Bakura?" with a sheepish smile.


End file.
